


Reckless Behaviour

by thegovernorspleasure



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Freakytits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 09:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15816324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegovernorspleasure/pseuds/thegovernorspleasure
Summary: Vera Bennett receives an anonymous flirtatious text and, against her better judgement, decides to engage.





	Reckless Behaviour

**Author's Note:**

> Set during s6e10 ('Fractured'). This idea started off as sort of a joke but I liked the premise so I decided to run with it. When Vera's cellphone first dinged in the episode my first thought was "what if it's a sext from Joan Ferguson". Unfortunately that did not turn out to be true so I wrote this to keep the Freakytits fire alive. This is my first fic so feedback/comments are greatly appreciated!

Brush your teeth. Lock all the doors and windows. Check under the bed. This paranoia-infused nighttime routine was one of the only constants in Vera Bennett’s chaotic life and so she clung to it, desperately hoping that it could somehow bring her some semblance of order and security.

 

As she settled into bed, her large doe eyes peering around the darkened bedroom, Vera tried to force herself to practice the deep-breathing exercises which Bridget Westfall had taught her so long ago. Breathe in. Hold your breath for eight seconds and then exhale for seven seconds. During these eight seconds, Vera tried to push from her mind all the horrific thoughts and memories which had been plaguing both her waking hours and her dreams. Thoughts of her disastrous relationship with Jake Stewart, the terminated pregnancy which had resulted from this doomed dalliance, and her precariously balanced career were the first thoughts which frequently came to mind. However, more intrusive thoughts permeated Vera’s mind tonight. Flashbacks of a strung-out Will Jackson admitting to being a murderer made Vera squeeze her eyes shut as she desperately attempted to block out the sound of his hasty confession. Gruesome images of his victim, Joan Ferguson, and her decaying teal-clad body still trapped inside the garden box which had served as her final resting place caused Vera to exhale quickly and roll over, curling into the fetal position underneath the covers.

 

 _Victim_. Was Joan Ferguson the victim? Vera could never decide on an answer to this philosophical-sounding question. She tried not to think about Joan but such an act was impossible as the woman’s intimidating presence could still be felt everywhere. Vera still felt that she was being watched, judged, and analyzed by unseen eyes whenever she sat behind her desk in the Governor’s office or walked through the hallways of the prison.

 

Joan’s presence also still lingered in Vera’s own house and whenever Vera sat at her kitchen table, she would think of the nights where Joan brought her dinner or cooked for her. These moments served as brief yet wonderful respite from the personal Hell which had taken over the home since Rita Bennett had fallen terminally ill. Those had been happier times.

 

‘ _There were no ‘happier’ times.’_ Vera silently reprimanded herself, bitterness blossoming in her stomach. Joan had been playing her all along as if she was some plastic soldier toy which could be used or discarded or broken on a whim. Still, Vera had wanted to believe that deep down, Joan really did care for her. A small voice in Vera’s head tried to justify the reason behind Joan’s visits to her home and her to Joan’s home as something more than pure manipulation. As much as she hated to admit it, Vera still clung to the belief that Joan could not have faked all the laughter and smiles and nervous yet intrigued glances which the two had shared during their debriefing sessions. Perhaps she was all wrong. Perhaps it was totally one-sided and Vera was the one whose feelings ran deeper than she cared to admit.

 

Rolling onto her back, Vera began to bite her lip. Now was not the time to analyze her feelings for Joan Ferguson. That was a matter which was more suited to be considered after consuming copious amounts of pinot. Back under a rock these thoughts went, just as they always had. Mum always said that nice girls didn’t think about such things anyway and despite everything, Vera wanted to believe that she was a nice girl.

 

A tri-tone ding interrupted Vera’s mental moral crusade. Light emanated from the phone which lay charging on Vera’s bedside table, lending some respite from the suffocating darkness of the room.

 

Frowning, Vera made no move to check her phone. The notification had startled her and she could feel her heart beating more quickly than usual underneath her pyjama top. Who could be texting her at such a late hour? It couldn’t be a work-related message as her coworkers always waited until the morning to message her unless it was an emergency, something which was always communicated through an actual phone call and not a text message. Vera didn’t exactly have many friends so the list of possible suspects was quite slim.

 

Could it be Jake? Was this another half-assed apology text overrun with excessive exclamation points and emojis? It had to be. He was probably drunk or high at the moment; maybe both. His impaired mind probably thought that texting Vera another laughable apology before they both arrived at Wentworth a few hours later for their morning shift would be a great idea.

 

Silently cursing, Vera reached over to grab her phone. Unplugging it from its charger, she sat up and squinted down at her lockscreen, ready to give Jake a piece of her mind. The text was from an unknown number not saved in Vera’s contacts. This alone was reason for alarm as Vera never gave out her phone number and all her staff knew that releasing the personal phone number of a Governor could earn them formal disciplinary action. As Vera’s eyes shifted downward to read the text itself, her stomach dropped.

 

_‘Hello, Vera. What are you wearing tonight?’_

 

“What the fuck?” Vera whispered, her voice shaking slightly.

 

This had to be some sort of joke. Or perhaps it was a wrong number. But if it was a wrong number then how did the sender know her name? No, it had to be a joke. Linda Miles was probably just having a laugh during her night shift. Vera would have to haul her into her office and question her about it tomorrow.

 

Putting the phone back down on her bedside table, Vera sighed heavily as she tried to rid herself of the lingering nerves which the late-night text had rekindled. Still, something didn’t feel quite right. There had been several strange occurrences which had happened to Vera over the past few weeks. ‘Strange’ was probably putting it mildly if Vera wanted to be quite honest with herself. Downright disturbing actions such as a dead bird being left on her doorstep, phantom phone calls, and the notable instance of someone breaking into her home and neatly leaving leather gloves on her pillow were all things which Vera had been subjected to. Could this text message be linked to the person who was stalking her?

 

Against her better judgement, Vera grabbed her phone and opened the message. What should she say? After much debate, Vera settled on a simple question.

 

_‘Who is this?’_

 

The sender of such a strange text probably wouldn’t reply. If it was one of her coworkers playing a joke on her, they’d know enough to stop before getting themselves into serious trouble.

 

Another tri-tone ding. Vera’s hands shook slightly as she held the phone and peered down at the new green text bubble waiting to be read.

 

_‘Ah, ah! You didn’t answer my question. What are you wearing tonight?’_

 

Vera rolled her eyes as she finished reading the latest message. A joke, and a poorly executed one at that. There was nothing threatening about being asked such a question. Once again, Vera Bennett had worked herself up over nothing.

 

Her phone was returned to its place on the nightstand. Vera refused to waste her few remaining hours of sleep on some prankster who was likely a bored teenage boy looking for a bit of fun.

 

A few minutes later, the phone buzzed to life again.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Vera snapped as she angrily rolled over and reached for the phone. She was going to give whoever this was a piece of her mind.

 

 _‘You didn’t fall asleep on me, did you? Surely you’re open to a bit of excitement. Shall I ask you a third time?’_  

 

Vera took a moment to consider the text before replying.

 

_‘Pyjamas. Happy now?’_

 

Vera propped her pillow up against her headboard so that she could sit more comfortably while waiting for a reply. When she did receive a reply a few seconds later, Vera squealed in embarrassment before clapping a petite hand over her mouth.

 

_‘I’d be much happier if I could see you without the pyjamas.’_

 

Vera wasted no time in typing out a reply.

 

_‘Whoever this is, just stop. You are sick.’_

 

The next reply took slightly longer to appear.

 

_‘I merely figured that you were tired of such dull nights. Thought you may want some company.’_

 

Vera snorted upon seeing the smirking emoji at the end of the text message. How desperate was this person?

 

 _‘Call some sort of hotline if you want company.’_ Vera fired back, proud of herself for finally having something witty to say.

 

_‘Why waste time with a hotline when I’ve got something even better right here?’_

 

Vera found herself blushing at this. She was a sucker for flattery. Another reply was typed out.

 

_‘What are you doing?’_

 

Vera knew that she should not be indulging in conversation with unknown contacts who appeared to have knowledge of who she was. Instead of replying, the best thing to do would be to show this conversation to the police. Vera’s rationalizing was derailed upon being notified of a new text message.

 

_‘I am trying to sext with you, Vera.’_

 

Vera dropped the phone into her lap, laughing nervously as she smoothed back the frizzy baby hairs which always seemed to escape from her nighttime ponytail. An anonymous texter who somehow knew her name was trying to _sext_ with her?

 

The rational side of Vera was screaming at herself to put the damn phone down however instead of obliging, Vera remained motionless. She had never sexted with someone before. Jake had tried to initiate something of the sort a few times in the past however Vera always felt too foolish and embarrassed to pursue what Jake was not-so-subtly hinting at.

 

Truthfully, Vera was jealous of naturally sexual women. Women who knew what they wanted in the bedroom and weren’t afraid to ask for it, women who knew that they possessed sex appeal, and women who felt comfortable in their own skin all amazed Vera. Often, Vera found herself unintentionally studying women like Franky Doyle or Allie Novak as they moved through the prison. The way they carried themselves was astounding. They radiated confidence and appeared to be well-aware of the fact that they could get any woman they wanted. Even Bridget possessed sexual energy however hers certainly was not as blatant as Doyle or Novak’s.

 

Vera began to gnaw on her lip as she tentatively picked up the phone. Sexting with a stranger was not something which Vera Bennett did. Then again, Vera Bennett had done a lot of things which she believed she’d never do as of late. Allowing a wheelchair-bound inmate to fall down the stairs after nearly pushing her down those stairs instead. Covering her own arse and getting another employee fired after the murder of Bea Smith. Getting pregnant out of wedlock and having an abortion. Becoming entangled in a murder plot with two of her coworkers. Perhaps Vera Bennett was not the woman she believed herself to be anymore.

 

After several minutes of debate, Vera typed out a reply. Squirming nervously, she pressed ‘send’. It was out of her hands now. What had been done could not be taken back.

 

_‘I’ve never sexted before.’_

 

Nervously, she waited. After a few minutes of silence there was still no reply and Vera figured that whoever had been messaging her had grown bored. It was for the best, anyway. Continuing the conversation would have been a terrible idea. This person could be dangerous and the last thing which Vera needed in her life right now was more danger.

 

Just as she had talked herself down and congratulated herself for not making yet another stupid mistake, Vera’s phone chirped.

 

_‘You just need a mentor.’_

 

Vera’s blood ran cold upon reading these words and a strangled gasp escaped her chapped lips.

 

“No.” She whispered to herself, shaking her head violently. “No, no, _no_.”

 

That sentence was painfully, frighteningly familiar to Vera. She could still recall where she had been the first time someone had said this to her. Visions of the prison cafeteria suddenly appeared and the formidable image of Joan Ferguson was not far behind. Joan had benevolently smiled down upon Vera and spoken these exact words. At the time, it had felt as if she was a disciple kneeling before Jesus. Later, after Joan’s fall from grace, the memory had transformed into something along the lines of the Serpent ensnaring Eve.

 

What should she do? Vera began to panic all over again. Her skin felt hot and constricting, her heart raced ahead of its usual pace, and she felt vaguely lightheaded and dizzy. Should she call Will? No, Vera decided. She would have no clue what to say. And what was there to say that wouldn’t make her sound utterly insane? ‘ _Oh, Will! I think Joan Ferguson is trying to send flirtatious texts to me from beyond the grave!’_ No, that would not do at all.

 

It couldn’t be Joan. It just couldn’t be. Other people knew that Joan had mentored Vera. She and Joan had not been alone when Joan had extended such an offer so someone could have overhead the exact phrasing which she had used. Joan had also taken some sort of strange delight in telling people that she had mentored Vera. This was usually followed by a backhanded compliment or an outright barb about Vera’s abilities as a Governor but it could explain how someone else came to know such a detail. The choice of wording may have just been a lucky guess.

 

A more pressing fear suddenly took over. Was this mysterious tormentor trying to suggest something about Vera? About Vera and Joan? Vera quickly tossed the covers aside for fear of overheating. She and Joan were…well, they weren’t like _that_. Vera had heard rumours surrounding Joan’s sexuality but she had always maintained that it was none of her business. Vera had admittedly thought about Joan as more than a boss but enjoying another woman’s company after work or thinking about Joan, with her dark, silver-streaked hair loose from its bun and tumbling down around her shoulders didn’t make Vera a lesbian. Besides, Joan had always said that she wanted to be more than a mentor to Vera. They were friends. _Had been_ friends, to be more correct. That’s all there was to it.

 

 _‘It’s all a really fucked-up joke.’_ Vera told herself. _‘A sick, sick, joke.’_ The same idiot who had broken into her house and left the gloves on her pillow was probably also responsible for these messages. However, instead of comforting Vera this thought only made her frantically grab for her covers and pull them up to her chin.

 

Shoving her phone onto the bedside table, Vera squeezed her eyes tightly shut to prevent herself from bursting into tears. The same person who had invaded her home was now sending her taunting text messages. Why was someone doing all of this to her? Why was she being harassed and stalked and terrorized instead of Will or Jake?

 

“I am a good person.” Vera whispered to herself, her voice small and unsure in the darkness.

 

This faltering statement did nothing to console Vera, who tossed and turned all night. Her usual nightmares plagued her however Vera also experienced several dreams which were not explicitly scary but quite connotatively frightening when she considered them after being jolted awake by her overworked mind.

 

Vera had dreamt of Joan. In one dream, Vera was standing at the location where Joan had been buried alive. She could hear Joan’s screams and her cries for Vera to help her. Vera had dropped to her knees and attempted to dig but she could not find the garden box. Joan’s voice grew louder and more urgent and Vera recalled herself frantically running around, digging various holes in an attempt to save Joan.

 

In another dream Vera was sat in her office, wearing her Governor’s uniform and sitting in her office chair. However, Joan was also there with her. Instead of a prisoner’s teals, Joan was dressed in her Governor’s uniform and she stood in all her glory in front of Vera. Joan had begun to lecture Vera about what a disappointment she was and how the prison was falling apart because of her. Vera had tried to speak but quickly discovered she couldn’t make a sound. Her silent protests went unnoticed by Joan, who began to circle around her desk like a shark as her verbal attacks became more vicious. Vera had woken up from this dream on the verge of tears, hating how the thought of disappointing Joan still upset her so greatly.

 

The last dream was the one which troubled Vera the most. The duo were once again in the Governor’s office however this time they were both dressed in their street clothes. Joan wore one of her sheer tunics and her thick hair was free from its standard bun. As it was nighttime in the dream the office was dark aside from the yellow-tinted light which crept in through the large windows from the large lights illuminating the empty prison yards. Vera stood in front of one of those windows and Joan had been behind Vera, tightly clutching the small woman to her chest. Joan’s arms had encircled Vera and her hair hung like a curtain, brushing Vera’s cheek and allowing Vera to smell Joan’s chic salon-brand shampoo. As she held Vera, Joan rested her cheek on Vera’s head and purred that Vera was the only one whom she trusted and that she was proud of how far Vera had come. Joan’s hands had then began to move slowly up and down Vera’s arms as she murmured about how much she enjoyed mentoring Vera. Just as Joan’s hands reached Vera’s narrow hips, Vera awoke from the dream with a gasp.

 

To say that she had never experienced a dream of this sort about her and Joan would be untrue. They had interrupted Vera’s sleep with alarming frequency during the period when she and Joan had worked harmoniously together. Vera had always done her best to push these dreams out of her mind as she feared Joan somehow finding out about them (the woman had a keen knack for sniffing out secrets) and viewing her as unprofessional.

 

Vera pulled her sheets over her head in frustration, trying to force herself to forget her most recent Joan-centred dreams. As she tried to fall back asleep, her head resting on the pillow which had served as a pedestal for an ominous pair of leather gloves just a few weeks ago, Vera also tried to quell the part of her which hoped that Joan was not dead in a makeshift grave but somewhere else.

 

 _‘Somewhere safe and somewhere with cell phone service.’_ Vera found herself thinking as she drifted back to sleep.


End file.
